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I wake slowly to the same four white walls that always greet me. I slowly rub my eyes to wipe away the sleep and glance over at the window. Sunlight slips into the room through the small window of my tiny little prison. It hurts my eyes to look at the sunlight, but after spending so long in such a dim place, I can’t help but stare at its blinding light. It reminds me that there is a world outside these four walls that trap me and in the gloominess of the room; its light offers me some hope. I don’t know where I am. I feel like a bird that has been stripped of its freedom and shoved into a cage, trapped with no way out. I can’t remember when I came here; it feels like a whole lifetime has passed. Even worse, I can’t remember anything about myself. Who I am, how old I am, what I did for a living…it is all gone. I try to remember, but every time I do, I am hit with an unusual feeling in my stomach and my head spins. It’s as if my body doesn’t want me to remember. The small room offers me no comfort; there is only a bed, a door that is almost always locked and a window which is barricaded. Some days, I feel like I’m being suffocated, there is barely enough space to breathe. My limbs are heavy, my body still craves sleep but no matter how tired I am, I don’t go to sleep. I can’t go to sleep. The same dream haunts me every time I close my eyes, leaving me restless and agitated when I wake up. Recently, it has been worsening. Now, the vision doesn’t just come in my sleep, I see it during the day too. I don’t know what it means; maybe it means that I’m just going crazy. I keep seeing a man strapped onto a table, blue eyes wide with fear. His voice is raspy, like he had been screaming for too long, and the same words always escape his ... ... middle of paper ... ...age. The rustle of fabric and footsteps draws my eyes to the shadows. There is another presence in the room, hidden in the shadows of the dimly lit room. I can see the outline of a body moving around, safe in the darkness, until another step brings them out from the darkness and into the light. It is me. My fingers are curled around a sharp knife and I watch in horror as my mirror image makes a deep incision into my brother’s skin. Then, a small bomb the exact size of a pacemaker is suddenly in my hands and I am slipping it into my brother. He is screaming now, tears running down his face, his words breathless. “Help me…please help me…” My mirror image stitches the ticking bomb inside him and then steps back into the shadows. I can move again, the ice freezing my muscles melting, and I try to reach out. He explodes and I wake to the sound of my own scream.
The blocks of concrete sidewalk in between two rusty, red brick buildings prickle my skin. I lay out my piece of brown corrugated cardboard and am comforted by its smoothness. It provides insulation on a breezy summer night. I curl up, cramped, in the fetal position; my limbs grow limp as my eyelids weigh down over two chocolate eyes. I can feel my fuzzy black dreadlocks falling down the nape of my neck and into the collar of my thin cotton t-shirt. I pull my white tube socks up to my knees with the help of my toes; only the space between them and the bottom of my shorts is now left uncovered and open to the wind. I deliberately position myself in an attempt to conserve energy before morning comes and invites my stomach to turn into a ferocious growling beast. The storeowner will harp about me finding another stoop by prodding my body with a cobweb-infested broom. I will worry about that tomorrow. For now, I escape into a deep, silent slumber. I begin to dream of another life with a different social setting.
The poem ‘High windows’ symbolises the transparency of life but there is still a physical and psychological barrier to life outside the ‘windows’ that we are unable to comprehend. As the windows creates a mood of reflection, that in fact the glass can be interpret as a mirror, rather than barrier but a reflection of our understanding of what life lies ahead. As it starts within us, as the thought of looking through the ‘high windows’ for meaning is impossible as the ‘sun-comprehending glass’, the sun sends a beam of light
Although everyone must explore and be adventurous to find who they are, they should do it in a rational way. In my point of view Chris McCandless was suicidal when he decided to enter the wild. John Krakauer, the author of Into the Wild, led us to believe through the shaved clean cut pictures of Chris that he was going to come home. However, I believe Chris did not intend to come home because of his unreasonable thinking and his unwillingness to prepare himself for the wild.
I awoke, frightened and alone, with a monster standing beside my bed. Although my body was paralyzed with fear, my mind was awake, trying to figure out how this hideous creature could have found me. As I gazed into the hypnotizing, dark eyes of this giant, the room altered, and I found myself, once again, in the basement of my father’s house. Surrounded with medical equipment, a rush of adrenaline pulsed through my tired body, forcing it awake. The monster walked slowly through the room, dragging his long, boney finger along the table. I remembered this basement very well, as I spent a great deal of time occupying it; however, there was something different, something was missing, something had changed. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Before I could spot the difference, an odd aroma began filling the air, making it somewhat difficult to breathe. Once again I found myself spinning, falling through a dark tunnel with no sense of direction or time, I closed my eyes tightly. Whenever the spinning sensation concluded, I opened my eyes. The aroma was stronger here, forcing tears out of my eyes and my dinner back up my throat. I knew exactly where I was…
I hurt everywhere. I try to slowly open my eyes but it is so hard, the blinding light hurts my head, I slowly peel my eyes open to find myself in a strange bathroom. Everything is old and dirty looking and I don’t mean dirty like “when my mom told me to clean my bathroom and there was only a ponytail on the sink and a few boy pins, dirty,” I mean it looked as if nobody had cleaned this bathroom in 15 years and still people used it. Once I establish myself, my eyes begin to wander, I am in a stained tub with all of my clothes still on me.
The voices in my head become a swelling crescendo. I forcefully grab my head in between my hands as the words echo through my skull. Pain pulsates with every word. I squeeze my temples hard with my palms but the pain is unbearable. Clawing at my face, a scream rips through me; sapping every last drop of energy in my body. Like a rag doll, I collapse onto the cold concrete floor as a growing darkness overcomes me.
11:14 p.m.-I slowly ascend from my small wooden chair, and throw another blank sheet of paper on the already covered desk as I make my way to the door. Almost instantaneously I feel wiped of all energy and for a brief second that small bed, which I often complain of, looks homey and very welcoming. I shrug off the tiredness and sluggishly drag my feet behind me those few brief steps. Eyes blurry from weariness, I focus on a now bare area of my door which had previously been covered by a picture of something that was once funny or memorable, but now I can't seem to remember what it was. Either way, it's gone now and with pathetic intentions of finishing my homework I go to close the door. I take a peek down the hall just to assure myself one final time that there is nothing I would rather be doing and when there is nothing worth investigating, aside from a few laughs a couple rooms down, I continue to shut the door.
At the end of my mat was the other end of the cell. The wall hovered over me like a tall, ominous castle. Small blocks protruded from beneath the thick, smooth paint and stared at me. A long, thin ray of light replicated the thin, long, dirty piece of glass that was probably trying to mimic a window. It was about three inches wide and a good meter in length. Sometimes, I stare out that window at the world outside, at the people walking freely on the streets two stories below. I wonder if they appreciate the freedom they have. I wonder if they appreciate the smell of the air. I wonder if they appreciate the nice, big windows they look through when they go home. Home. I wonder if they appreciate home. I know I didn't before. No. I didn't appreciate any of that; at least not the way I will when I can have them again.
Inside the nicely decorated room with taupe walls just the perfect hint of beige, lie colorful accessories with incredible stories waiting to be told. A spotless, uninteresting window hangs at the end of the room. Like a silent watchman observing all the mysterious characteristics of the area. The sheer white curtains cascade silently in the dim lethargic room. In the presence of this commotion, a sleepy, dormant, charming room sits waiting to be discovered. Just beyond the slightly pollen and dust laden screens, the sun struggles to peak around the edges of the darkness to cast a bright, enthusiastic beam of light into the world that lies beyond the spotless double panes of glass. Daylight casts a dazzling light on the various trees and flowers in the woods. The leaves of fall, showcasing colors of orange, red, and mustard radiate from the gold inviting sunshine on a cool fall day. A wonderful world comes to life outside the porthole. Colossal colors littered with, abundant number of birds preparing themselves for the long awaited venture south, and an old toad in search of the perfect log to fall asleep in for the winter.
We all remember these grey gloomy days filled with a feeling of despair that saddens the heart from top to bottom. Even though, there may be joy in one’s heart, the atmosphere turns the soul cold and inert. Autumn is the nest of this particular type of days despite its hidden beauty. The sun seems foreign, and the nights are darker than usual enveloped by a thrill that generates chills to travel through the spine leaving you with a feeling of insecurity. Nevertheless, the thinnest of light will always shine through the deepest darkness; in fact, darkness amplifies the beauty and intensity of a sparkle. There I found myself trapped within the four walls of my house, all alone, surrounded by the viscosity of this type of day. I could hear some horrifying voices going through my mind led by unappealing suicidal thought. Boredom had me encaged, completely at its mercy. I needed to go far away, and escape from this morbid house which was wearing me down to the grave. Hope was purely what I was seeking in the middle of the city. Outside, the air was heavy. No beautifully rounded clouds, nor sunrays where available to be admired through the thick grey coat formed by the mist embedded in the streets. Though, I felt quite relieved to notice that I was not alone to feel that emptiness inside myself as I was trying to engage merchant who shown similar “symptoms” of my condition. The atmosphere definitely had a contagious effect spreading through the hearts of every pedestrian that day. Very quickly, what seemed to be comforting me at first, turned out to be deepening me in solitude. In the city park, walking ahead of me, I saw a little boy who had long hair attached with a black bandana.
I woke up to the pungent smell of hospital disinfect, invading my nostrils. The room was silent apart from my heavy breathing and the beep beep sound you often hear in hospitals that indicates you're alive. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting in attempt to sharpen the blurred images before me. I glanced around and took in the deserted, blue and white colour schemed hospital bedroom. How long have I been here? I shut my eyes, trying to remember what had exactly happened. Then it all hits me with a bang. The memory of it all starts to occupy my thoughts.
My hand shaking at every thought, a cold shiver ran down my spine as cold sweat trickled down the side of my forehead. I lifted my hand up and a strong smell hit my nose, it was the smell of blood. I lifted the object and shock hit me like lightening, fear displaced my sadness, sickness changed my bloodstream from blood to a thick liquid pus and vomit. I held the muscle with my right hand as my left hand was paralysed with shock. The adrenaline shot me forcing me to move but shock shattered me into thin slices that were impossible to put back again.
...e inside, I begin to beam. Because of what had happened my parents are talking to each other. I then close my eyes and rest.
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.
The light from the sun reflects off the pure white wall, illuminating the room. The dust floats, undisturbed by the empty house. This is what I see as I launch myself out the door, into the hot summer air, into the sounds of playing children.